English-Language Arts Network

Putting a Lock on Tourists

Trois Rivières – Watch out! You can end up in the slammer in this city without breaking the law. Here, reality tourism gives visitors a taste of what prisoners experienced in the 1960s and '70s.

The Old Prison in Trois Rivieres opened in 1822. At its closing 164 years later, it was the oldest prison operating in Canada.

Now groups can spend a night in jail—courtesy of a program organized by the Quebec Museum of Folk Culture (also known as Musee quebecois de culture populaire). These paid overnight stays are open to groups year around.

The night I was there, a metal door banged shut repeatedly. Benoit Gauthier, the museum's director, was one of the participants. Psychologically, he found it difficult. "In jail you are stripped of fundamental rights and you're reduced to your last name," Gauthier said.

Someone else decides what you do and when. If you smile, you risk being bullied—or taken away in handcuffs, he said following our release the next morning.

Ultimately, "the guard controls what you are," Gauthier said.

Upon our arrival in jail, we were stripped of most personal belongings and held in a bullpen, a large cell.

A guard, Pierre, came to pick us up one by one for fingerprinting and mug shots and to hand out the prisoner's T-shirt. Built like an icebox, Pierre stands 6 feet tall and weighs 280 pounds.

In our wing, a former inmate was our guide. Louis introduced us to prison mores. Lesson one: how to attract the attention of the guard.

"Screw!" Louis called out. He kicked the door and peered out of its small window. Stone-faced, Pierre opened the door. Louis asked for a favour—a trip to the washroom, maybe. (The name "screw" refers to the action of turning a key in a lock.)

Roll call started. "Haaren." I didn't recognize my name at first. "Haaren!" Pierre barked. I quietly slipped into line, but whispered, "van Haaren."

Oh-oh. You don't argue with a guard, not even about your name.

We spent the evening sitting around a picnic table. Some played cards, others watched TV or talked. Louis randomly changed the channel to let us know he was at the top of the pecking order.

He later showed a taped documentary about the prison's real inmates. "Prisons," a man's voice said, "are a school for crime."

Louis pointed out, "it's not just about doing time, it's about who you're doing it with."

At bedtime, the guard lined us all up in front of the only washroom. He timed us: We had three minutes each to brush our teeth and use the toilet. Someone snickered. "You think this is funny?" the guard bellowed.

Eyes averted, the inmate answered, No, it's not.